The Lonley Devil
by Evanna's Rabbithole
Summary: Monday Rainne loves puzzles, and Jim Moriarty is the most curious puzzle she's ever seen. This is the story of how she finds all of his missing pieces.


Monday Rainne had never expected to spend her Tuesday nights closing up a bookshop, but then again, what really ever went to plan anyway? She sighed. It was such a petty job, such a bloody boring job after her adventures. But she supposed that it was better than imprisonment... Barely. And to top it off, she missed London so. She couldn't go back though, not ever. Too many loose ends, too many people on the wrong side who knew her. Monday had decided she was done with it all, so here she stayed.

Mrs. Lafayette yelled from the back of the shop, telling Monday (though here, everyone knew her as Madeline) that she was leaving for the night and reminding her to lock the door on her way out. All this was said in quick French, obviously, for that was where Monday had fled. France. Yvoire, France to be more specific. She had fled for the sake of a clean slate, and a second shot. And to run from the things she had done.

Monday told Mrs. Lafayette goodbye, also in French. She really didn't mind it here in Yvoire too much. It was charming, and very old. Seven hundred years old, if she wasn't mistaken. Everything was stone, and it was right on the coast. The place was so beautiful, and even the walls themselves seemed as though they had secrets to tell. Real-estate here wasn't cheap, but her mother had left her the old house. This was the place she was born in, how poetic that it should be her hiding place as well.

She put her head down, banging it on a stack of books on the counter. Her hair, not quite black, fell over her face in waves. She had a full, pinkish pout and clever, almond-shaped sage green eyes that were framed by thick lashes. Her skin was smooth and pale. Fleur, Monday's mother, used to tell her she looked like a doll. Funny, sometimes she felt like a doll, albeit a broken one. She looked sweet enough (felt that way sometimes) but Monday knew herself well enough to know she had a dangerous streak that was a mile wide.

Sitting back up, she threw back her inky curls and let the air out of her lungs in a huff. She looped her fingers through the grimy bronze drawer handle and yanked, digging around until she found her keys. Mrs. Lafayette would clear the register in the morning, she preferred to do it herself. Not that she didn't trust Monday, she just liked things done a certain way. Keys jangling, she flipped the light-switch and plunged the rows of ancient books into darkness. She then grabbed her coat off of the stool behind the counter and slung it over her shoulder, stepping out into the evening air and locking the door behind her.

It was chilly outside, and the sky was clear. By this time, the sun was setting, making half the sky blue gray and the other half golden. Not too much longer and you would be able to see the stars on the eastern horizon. Monday had things to do, errands to run, but to be honest she didn't feel like it. Mrs. Lafayette worked Wednesdays and Thursdays, those were her days off. She would do it all then. For now, she would just go home. Some things were likely to be closed by this point in the day anyway. A person could walk the entire medieval town in a couple hours, seeing everything there was to see in the process. Antique shops, restaurants, inns and pubs. There were eight or ten streets winding around the whole town, tops.

The house wasn't too far, less than ten minutes out of town on her bicycle. It was leaning up in the alleyway beside the building. There weren't too many tourists this time of year, and everyone who lived here knew her so she didn't bother locking it up. It was a piece of junk anyway, but it had been her mother's so she couldn't bring herself to get another. Chipping mint green paint, rusty basket and all, she was oddly sentimental about the old thing.

Gathering her hair into a ponytail, she mounted the bike and started off. November air nipped at her face as she cycled out of town. There were a few people roaming the streets, not too many. When winter started in the streets were mostly empty, only the locals roaming about. A stupid grin spread across lips that lipstick was drying quickly. Riding her bicycle home from work was often the highlight of her slow, dreadfully normal days... Which now that she thought of it was not such a good thing.

Monday rode on, zipping under an arch and out of the walls of the town, entering the lovely French countryside. A large manor could bee seen in the distance off to her left, and the hills were dotted with little cottages. Her house couldn't be seen yet, she still had a ways to go. With her gray trench coat flapping around her she rode on for another few minutes, panting as she worked her way up a hill and then coasting down the other side. As she did so, she grinned and let go of the handlebars, steering with her knees and whooping with arms spread wide. She shut her eyes, and her stomach soared. For a moment, she swore she was flying. Then she reached the bottom, opened her eyes and put her hands back on the bars.

The old house was in sight now. It was a pretty small cottage, light powder blue with white shutters and trim. She had repainted it when she came back, and fixed the inside up a bit. And by fixed up, she meant patched the holes in the roof and changed the light bulbs. Her garden was a bit overgrown, but Monday didn't mind. She liked the wild rosebushes that tangled together and the petunias that blanketed the ground underneath. There was a little dirt road that lead up to it, and it was perched on top of a hill. Not a steep one, thank goodness, because by this point in her ride Monday was not in the mood for that.

Pedaling up to the steps, she leaned her bike against the little porch and leapt up the steps, keys jangling. She stuck her keys into the lock but to her surprise it was already open. She always locked the door. Always, period. She was too careful to be so careless. So this could only mean one thing. It was happening again. She bit the inside of her mouth, thinking for a moment and then taking down her hair, shaking it out and sticking the tie in her coat pocket. She then took out her mp3 player and stuck her headphones in her ears, turning on some indie band and cranking it up as loudly as it would go.

She opened the door, humming and acting oblivious while kicking her shoes off and hanging her coat on its stand. After making a show of neatening the entryway (checking for anything dangerous) she danced into the kitchen, making a cup of tea in order to have an excuse to examine more of her belongings. Nothing had been moved so much as a centimeter, nobody had gone through it as far as she could see. Whoever it either wanted her dead, which wouldn't be easy to achieve, or wanted her help, which wouldn't be easy to obtain. They might even still be here.

While waiting for the water to boil, Monday sat on the counter, staring out the bay window and tapping her fingers to the beat. It had been so long since anyone had came for her, she had foolishly assumed that she would be left alone. Or rather, assumed that everyone had figured out how stupid of an idea it was to come looking for her, no matter what they wanted. Obviously she had been wrong.

The teapot started to squeal, or so she figured because there was steam coming out of the spout. It made her nervous not being able to hear anything, but she didn't want anyone to know she knew they were here and she thought the headphones were a nice touch. If they hadn't gone already, anyway. Something told her that wasn't the case though... She pondered whether to look for the intruder or not. Pouring the water over the teabag and swirling in sugar and cream, she was still trying to decide as she walked into the living room. As soon as she entered the room, she shrieked and dropped her teacup, feeling it shatter silently on the brick floor in front of her toes. There was a man lounging on her leather sofa.

Immediately she started to jabber in French, grabbing the nearest object (which happened to be a candlestick, how cliché), brandishing it at him and backing up against the wall. The man laughed, not moving from his position on the couch.

"Nice try, Monday," he grinned. He had a voice like velvet, and he enunciated certain letters while elongating some where they usually wouldn't be. His smile was reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat, and he had strange eyes that were such a dark brown that they bordered on black. Something about those eyes... They were empty. Deadened. His skin was pale and his was hair short, neat hair that almost matched his eyes. He was dressed very sharply in a jet black, well tailored suit with a gray silk tie. Even Monday had to admit, he was very handsome.

Monday blinked at him, eyes wide. "My name eez Madeline!" she told him, putting on a heavy French accent.

"No it's not!" the man said, singing the last word.

Monday huffed. "Fine," she she relented, putting down her weapon and reverting to her English accent for the first time in months. "That worked on one of the stupid ones, though."

"I figured I wouldn't be the first. Even though I already know the answer, just for kicks tell me what happened to the others."

"They died."

The stranger laughed again. "I like you already, Monday. I can call you Monday, right?"

"If you tell me who you are."

"I'm Jim. Jim Moriarty. But you can call me Jim."

Monday looked up from the teacup she had been cleaning off the rough bricks, snorting. "_You're_ Jim Moriarty?"

"Hello!"

She scowled at him. "Yeah, well, I can't say I've ever heard of you making house calls before. What do you want?"

Jim ignored her question. "You're a difficult woman to find, Monday Rainne. And by difficult, I mean it took me longer than a few minutes to figure out what city you're in. Hiding in plain sight, clever, clever."

"Yeah, well, I try. What do you want?" she asked, repeating her previous inquiry.

"What makes you think I want anything?"

"If you're who you say you are and you wanted me dead, I would be already. So what do you want?"

He nodded. "Not bad. Someone's done her homework," he said, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together in his lap. "I want you back in the game. And I want you on my side."

Monday shook her head. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"No you won't. I can see it written all over your face, Monday. You're not ordinary. Well, you are. But not as ordinary as the rest of them. You're not cut out for this. You're _bored_."

"I'd rather be bored here than in a prison cell. Or a coffin, for that matter."

"I can keep you out of prison, no trouble. Even if you do get yourself locked up, I can get you out. And if you don't come with me, I can arrange your latter point, if you like. Doesn't make a difference to me. Your choice, Monday. And unless we've developed some sort of new moral standard, I really don't see any reason for you not to accept my invitation."

Monday was silent.

"You have until Thursday evening to find me again. Or I'll send a friend over. And my friends won't have any qualms about killing you, I'm sorry to say. And I really don't want you dead, Monday. Really, I don't. Because you're clever. There aren't too many people in the world I've called clever before. But make no mistake, I won't let you live just because of that."

Jim got up, brushing something invisible off of his pristine suit and heading for the door. Just then, Monday heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. "Nice to meet you, Miss Rainne. Do keep in touch, darling."


End file.
